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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221647">Poetically Unsaid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff'>The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>&amp; also remains the best stepmother, &amp; making them dance to it, Anniversary, Healing, In Public, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Slow Dancing, daphne Knows Things, i am once again writing baby it's cold outside into a fic, i had a weird dream last night where rainbow was reading to me, idk it's a theme with me, in that order? maybe, it's been like 5 years &amp; they're doing very well, no shade, simon is thinking of his two favorite things: food &amp; baz, that has nothing to do with the fic but i literally just remembered that so here's a tag about it, they are in love, very scandalous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29221647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon &amp; Baz share a special anniversary.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Let It Snow Zine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Poetically Unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>originally written for the Let It Snow Zine. </p>
<p>Please be sure to check out <a href="https://peachpit-gabe.tumblr.com/post/642061122644606976/let-it-snow-zine">the lovely art</a> for this fic by peachpit-gabe!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Cold lips…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Cold mouth…</em>
</p>
<p>His heart beating fast as a hummingbird’s wings beneath my fingertips.</p>
<p>That’s what I’m thinking of as we walk towards the shops from the car park. Kissing Baz.</p>
<p>
  <em>Kissing Baz.</em>
</p>
<p>His lips are always cold. (Unless you count after he’s fed. Especially when he’s had a taste of my blood.) But it’s Christmas Eve, and it’s snowing, and we’re outside, so I imagine they might be colder than usual. I imagine mine might be cold, too…</p>
<p>I imagine it’d be nice if we could warm each other’s mouths.</p>
<p>But we’re in Hampshire for Christmas, at his parents’, and I don’t go around snogging him in front of <em>them. </em>(It’d just be weird, wouldn’t it?) (Like, even if I hadn’t stolen their magic on another Christmas Eve, years ago now, I still stole their son.) (For what it’s worth, the magic <em>did </em>come back. And I think Baz visits enough, really.) And now we’ve finally a moment alone, since Daphne’s sent us out to get the pudding she hadn’t realised she’d forgotten. (Some ingredient? Might not be the whole pudding.) (It’s unclear.)</p>
<p>I think maybe she knew. Knew we needed this, after all these days with family and all the kids. I mean, Baz adores them. <em>I </em>adore them. But it can be a lot.</p>
<p>Daphne’s got a way about her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sent us out here for self-care.</p>
<p>My idea of self-care might be a good snog with my stupidly fit boyfriend.</p>
<p>There was a time—not so long ago, really—where I’d never think about kissing Baz in public. Where I couldn’t even hold his hand…</p>
<p>It was snowing then, too.</p>
<p>Sometimes I think about it, about how I almost let him go. (I try not to, but I'm not as good at not thinking about things as I used to be.) (My therapist would probably say something about actually <em>feeling my feelings</em> or some crap.) (It's not crap, not really.) (It's just that facing your demons can be a lot messier than they make it out to be in films.)</p>
<p>Anyway. Letting go of Baz would've been the biggest regret of my life, wouldn't it? I mean, I think it would've been the easier route, in some ways. But it's the things worth having—the things worth holding on to—that are worth fighting for, yeah? It's the good stuff. Sometimes you have to trust what's good and fight through the shit to get to it.</p>
<p>Sometimes it's worth it to look your demons in the eye.</p>
<p>I reach for him now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>We’re not really out for pudding.</p>
<p>For as long as I’ve known her, I don’t think Daphne has ever served a pudding that she didn’t make herself.</p>
<p>“<em>Go on, love,</em>” she said to me earlier while Simon was busy kicking the football around with the children. “<em>Take some time to yourselves. Just be home in time for dinner.</em>”</p>
<p>I’ve never told her that today is our anniversary, but she has a way about her. A way of knowing. A <em>mother’s </em>knowing, I suppose. And, well. It wouldn’t take much deduction to sort out, anyway.</p>
<p>I could’ve told him on the drive. I probably should have. But we’ve never actually celebrated, Simon and I. It’s a day that comes and passes. Which is better than how it was acknowledged that first year.</p>
<p>That was when he started pulling away. <em>Pushing </em>away.</p>
<p>It felt more like an ending than it did a beginning.</p>
<p>But it seems these last years have been rife with new beginnings. Snow with his reclaimed magic, and a new name. (An old name, really. The name he was always meant to have.) (He jokes about how we’ve always been on a “middle-name basis.” I usually roll my eyes, but on the inside, I’m soaring.) Mordelia home for Christmas from her very first year at Watford. Simon and I…</p>
<p>Crowley, <em>Simon and I.</em></p>
<p>This place is charming. Cobblestones. Fairy lights. Romantic might be the word.</p>
<p>He’s holding my hand, now, and I can feel the furnace warmth of him even through our gloves.</p>
<p>He squeezes once, then lets go, and I’m thinking that’s it. But then his arm is wrapping around me, his palm at my waist, and he’s pulling me close, pressing chilled lips against my cheek.</p>
<p>There was a time when my impulse would be to wonder how to hold on to him.</p>
<p><em>What’s the key? </em>I’d ask myself. I’d ask <em>him, </em>inside my mind. <em>How do I get here tomorrow? Promise to let me back in.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Promise to let me back in…</em>
</p>
<p>The worst of it is behind us now. I have him. He has me.</p>
<p>We have each other.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>"I’ve been thinking,” I start as I find Baz’s hand with mine again.</p>
<p>“Really? I’m sorry to hear that, Snow. It must’ve hurt.”</p>
<p>I don’t have to look at him to know he’s got an eyebrow cocked at me. (I do anyway.) (I like to look at him.) “Piss off,” I say, but I’m smiling. “What I mean is, there’s no way Daphne forgot anything for pudding. She’s one of the most organised people like, ever. She’s got that bloody whiteboard with everyone’s schedules on.”</p>
<p>Baz is smiling, too. No teeth. (I know because I’m still looking at him.) “She may have thought a bit of peace and quiet would do us good.”</p>
<p>I shove into him, and he laughs prettily. It’s got me warming up from the inside. “Oh, you knew, did you? This is just like you, Basilton. Always <em>plotting </em>something. You and your whole family.”</p>
<p>I feel him shrug. (I think maybe he’s picked that up from me.) “I hope it’s alright.”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“I should’ve mentioned in the car. We could’ve decided on somewhere to go together.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve not dragged me out here for a secret proposal, then?”</p>
<p>I don’t know where it comes from. It just sort of...slips out. (Also I’d sort of like to be sure that that’s not what this is.) (Not that I don’t want to be with Baz. To <em>marry </em>Baz.) (I guess it’s just something I thought I’d ask myself.) (I brought it up with Penelope recently, asked her how it works with two blokes. First she went off on me for being misogynistic—which I didn’t mean—and then she practically squealed. And then I told her I wasn’t ready yet, and she said, “<em>Who are you kidding, Simon? You’ve been ready since fifth year at least.</em>”) (I told her that was kind of weird. She told me it was kind of weird that she’d had to put a percentage cap on the amount I could talk about Baz.) (Anyway, I don’t think I am. Ready, I mean. But there’s no harm in being prepared.) (I think I’d like that. A future with Baz.) (We’re endgame.)</p>
<p>"Sorry?" It’s just the one word, but he sounds well flustered.</p>
<p>"Um." I rub the back of my neck with my free hand. "Bad joke?'</p>
<p>"First of all, Snow, if I were <em>plotting</em> a proposal, I wouldn't try to pencil it in last minute before a family dinner. Also, I didn't<em> drag </em>you anywhere. You practically leapt into the Jag at the mention of cherry pie."</p>
<p>I knock his shoulder with mine, but I don't say anything.</p>
<p>I think of Baz's mum instead, about how she fought all those duels for his father, when she proposed. About how she might've even hung the moon…</p>
<p>Then I think that maybe I should leave the proposing to him after all.</p>
<p>I've always loved watching him fight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>Simon Snow—Simon <em>Salisbury</em>—is mentioning marriage. Flippantly.</p>
<p>And even though I know he wasn't serious, it seems a far cry from where we were even a few years ago. Two broken boys who couldn't even manage three simple words…</p>
<p>They aren't simple words at all. Especially not when they mean so much.</p>
<p>As it is, I'm as in love with him as ever. Only not so hopelessly, anymore.</p>
<p>It’s much more real than I ever could have imagined, yet still something I never thought I’d have. Waking up each day with the warmth of him beside me (and his morning breath). His insistence on making us breakfast at the weekend. (Always so much butter. And always with bacon, easier to eat now that I’ve control of my fangs.) Curry for dinner while we watch something banal on television. Arguments over nothing. Snow never remembering to replace the fucking toilet roll.</p>
<p>Our bodies moving together in the dark.</p>
<p>Blood and kisses, sometimes. My fantasies come to life in ways I never dared to dream.</p>
<p>I glance at him now. There’s snow and fairy lights shining in his hair, golden bronze where it’s escaping wildly from beneath his hat. His face is flushed from the cold, and his blue eyes are warm with light and love. Freckles and my favourite mole are peeking out from beneath his scarf.</p>
<p>He’s healthy, and full of magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>There’s Christmas music coming from somewhere. Probably speakers hidden in the shrubbery or something.</p>
<p>I think this is the first year since...<em>everything</em>...that it actually feels nice to listen to.</p>
<p><em>Baby, It’s Cold Outside </em>is playing. And all the fairy lights are reminding me…</p>
<p>I turn to face Baz, and he jumps. It makes me laugh. (Vampires are quick, yeah? You wouldn’t think they’d be startled so easily.)</p>
<p>“What is it, you nightmare?”</p>
<p>We’ve stopped beneath a lamp post, and there’s warm light shining in the grey of his eyes. (I’d say they’ve gone silver, but they’re much prettier than that.)</p>
<p>I grab him by the waist and pull him closer. (I don’t give a damn if anyone looks. For now, it’s just us. Just Baz and Simon. Simon and Baz.) "D'you wanna dance?"</p>
<p>His eyebrow hikes up. It's a miracle it's not disappeared into his widow's peak at this point. "Someone once told me that dancing's <em>well gay</em>."</p>
<p>I shrug at him, and he rolls his eyes. But he puts his hand in mine. He lets me lead.</p>
<p>“If you step on my feet, Snow,” he starts, “You’re sleeping on my couch.”</p>
<p>“Might do, then,” I say. “That got me right where I wanted last time, didn’t it?”</p>
<p>Fuck, but he’s pretty when he blushes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>We sway together beneath the lamp post, faces nestled together, Snow miraculously not stepping on my feet.</p>
<p>I warm him in my arms.</p>
<p>And he warms me in his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>Baz holds me like I’m not going to break.</p>
<p>It took him awhile to get there, but I’m glad he did. I’m glad <em>we </em>did.</p>
<p>I think about us, about everything. About dancing at his leavers ball, about how he talked about things going <em>poetically unsaid. </em>The soft stuff. The sort of stuff you mean that’s sometimes too embarrassing to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>I can feel his breath misting next to my ear. And then his voice comes, soft and low and lovely. <em>Warm. </em>“Happy anniversary,” he says.</p>
<p>He’s never said it before.</p>
<p>My heart...it’s somewhere in my throat. I try to swallow it back down as I press myself closer to him. As I pull my face back so that I can see him.</p>
<p>He’s lovely. And he’s <em>mine. </em></p>
<p>“Happy anniversary, love.”</p>
<p>He grins.</p>
<p>And then he kisses me.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all! I hope you enjoyed this little fic. Let me know what you thought in the comments!</p>
<p>A little update on me: I know I've been fairly absent lately (from here, Tumblr, IG, Discord, all the things lol). I have a big personal thing happening at the moment so fandom stuff has been on the backburner. I might be able to share more soon. For anyone who's waiting for a BTL update (or updates on my other WIPs): I am hoping to be able to get back to writing within the next month or so! I don't want to make any promises on when stuff will be out, because I really have no idea, but I truly am hoping to be able to write soon. </p>
<p>Hope y'all are well &amp; having a safe new year!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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